Desperate Duchesses

Suddenly what? The Duke of Villiers had declared his intention to court her, in front of her papa, but what did that mean?



The question had kept her awake. Could it have just been an unscrupulous jest on his part? But a package was delivered the next morning. It was a soft bundle of pale blue velvet tied in ribbon, about the size of an expensive bible. When she untied it, a card fell to the floor. She snatched it up and found spiky black letters that were indubitably no one’s but Villiers’s.



I have no Familiarity with Courtship. Pray do not abuse your Power, Fair One. I find this trifle Reminds me of you.



A special volume of Shakespeare’s poetry, she thought. There was more blue velvet. And when that fell open…Not Shakespeare. It was a portrait. It showed a young country girl wearing a simple dress and holding a small cage.



“Oh, how lovely!” Jemma cried, when Roberta showed it to her a few minutes later. “It’s painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds, of course. How exquisite.”



“Why do you suppose she is holding a mouse trap?” Roberta asked.



“Is that what it is?” Jemma peered closer and something indefinable crossed her face. Could it be longing—or—or jealousy? Roberta’s heart thumped. She wanted Villiers; she wanted her friendship with Jemma almost as much.



But Jemma was gay in her answer. “Darling, it’s a mousetrap because—well—you do know the old adage about marriage, don’t you?”



Roberta frowned. “A trap?”



“The parson’s mousetrap.” Jemma’s laughter sounded clear and true, and not at all tainted by jealousy.



Roberta didn’t like the portrait quite as much as she had a moment before.



“Pure Villiers,” Jemma was saying. “An exquisite, hideously expensive gift…any other man would have sent you a ruby. His present has a hidden jest.”



“It’s not as if he’s thumbing his nose at me?” Roberta asked.



“Oh no. He’s sharing the joke, don’t you see? Marriage is madness, you know. He’s making a joke of it, because one can hardly do otherwise.”



One couldn’t? Somehow…Roberta could see it otherwise. Though that was foolish beyond all measure, given that she was the same woman who planned to cold-bloodedly trick Villiers into marriage. And now that he was walking into the trap, and laughing at its boundaries, she felt uncomfortable?



“We’ll have a dinner party,” Jemma was saying. “He’ll spring the question, of course, and it will be most amusing.”



“Will he?”



“Of course he will.” Jemma peered at her. “You do realize how much a painting by Reynolds costs, don’t you?”



Roberta looked again at the odd, cunning expression in the girl’s eyes, the shadow cast by the mousetrap onto the soft muslin of the girl’s dress and the cat’s bright eyes. “You don’t think he guessed that I planned to set a trap for him?”



Jemma shrugged. “Who cares? Would you credit his earnestness if he had sent you a necklace of rubies?”



Roberta nodded.



“This is better than a necklace. Even the frame is superb. Now who shall I invite to the dinner party? It has to be just the right mix to present the proper frame for Villiers’s demise.”



“Demise”?



“It will seem so to the ton,” Jemma said. “Believe me. Ladies have set their caps at him for the past ten years, and you merely smiled at him and he surrendered. You, my dear, are about to become the toast of London.”



“Even given my father’s presence?” Roberta said faintly.



“Of course,” Jemma said. “And Mrs. Grope. Do you know, Roberta, I’m not sure that Mrs. Grope entirely shares your papa’s enthusiasm for her future career as a notorious courtesan?”



“It is my belief that she would like to marry him,” Roberta said. “I don’t think he understands that, though.”



“Men never see things,” Jemma said with a sigh. “Their marriage would cause a terrible scandal.”



“Because of her loss of character?”



“Well, yes,” Jemma said. “Look at Elizabeth Armistead, Fox’s mistress. He openly professes his affection, and I’m quite certain that he’ll marry her at some point. The bets in White’s have been running in her favor these four years. Even so, she is not received at or invited to most events.”



“Ah.”



“The ton is a brutal barometer of acceptability, I assure you. I shall have to invite some respectable women to dinner, but I must speak to Beaumont first.”



“About the dinner?”



Jemma seemed to have rethought whatever it was she was about to say, because she changed the subject entirely. “A far more crucial problem,” she said, “is which mantuamaker should receive your patronage.”



Roberta thought gratefully of the roll of banknotes her papa had given her. It made everything so much easier; she didn’t feel like a horrid pauper, dressing in Jemma’s clothing.



“I would suggest that we use a Frenchwoman,” Jemma said. “It’s not that I am inherently prejudiced against my countrywomen. Well…perhaps I am.”



Roberta burst out laughing, and in the ensuing delightful conversation, she quite forgot about the question of who was to be invited to the dinner party. “I should like a balloon hat. Do you know them, Jemma?”



Jemma nodded. “In Paris they are called lunardi. I’m not sure whether it will suit you, dearest. All those feathers…so much trimming!”



“I saw one in the park yesterday made of rose-colored French gauze with a wide brim,” Roberta said. “A young lady was wearing it quite low on one side, and high on the other.”



“Ah,” Jemma said. “That does sound interesting. The one I have is all Italian tiffany pinned in loose puckers around the brim. I liked it very much, but then the wire poked out of the brim and stuck me in the ear one day and I never wore it again.”



“Of course, the brim is wired,” Roberta said. “How clever!”



“We’ll address the dinner party later,” Jemma said. “I think we should go to Bond Street this very moment.”



Jemma didn’t think about the dinner party again until her husband appeared to play his part of the game with her. He moved as quickly as ever, knight to Queen’s Bishop Three, but Jemma was aware of a slight feeling of unease. She took her time. Finally she moved a knight to King’s Bishop Three.



“Interesting,” Elijah said, giving her move a lightning quick glance. She was learning a great deal about her husband from their game. He seemed to grasp the connotations of her moves in two seconds. In truth, the power of his mind was astonishing.



“I thought to give a dinner party this week,” she said, sitting back. He looked less tired today, although there was a deep-down exhaustion in his eyes that she found rather worrying.



“We haven’t had people to sup here since you left for Paris,” he said. He appeared to have forgotten about the offensive presence of Mrs. Grope. “Fowle will be ecstatic.”



“I thought we could come up with a guest list between the two of us,” Jemma said, “excluding anyone who would make an issue of not attending due to the marquess’s companion. Harriet will lend us consequence and she won’t make a fuss. Who would you like to invite?”